heaven makes a bet it learns to regret
by stanzas
Summary: Angels, despite the reputation, have a much more avid method for gambling. Especially when there is holy wine involved. A lot of holy wine.


**summary**: Angels, despite the reputation, have a much more avid method for gambling. Especially when there is holy wine involved. A _lot_ of holy wine.

**a/n**- dude this has been in my drafts for about 3 months jesus  
also i guess this ends my 2 month hiatus sorry about that i'll get to answering the 150 reviews waiting to be answered that i've been ignoring since june (seriously jesus christ A HUNDRED AND FIFTY I SHIT YOU NOT LIKE WTF ARE YOU TRYIGN TO DROWN ME IN REVIEWS BC YOU SUCCEEDED THANKS A LOT)

this is based on my really shitty headcanon that way back in the beginning the angels were all hugsy feelsy of each other and got really drunk and made a really bad gamble for their most beloved angels

-psst this is really dumb but the final word count in my doc is 2013 and i just loled ignore me im really lame and i should be study for my biology test tomorrow bye

* * *

_**heaven makes a bet it learns to regret**_

* * *

i.

_in the beginning_

.

.

.

Angels don't get drunk unless they really want to. And a lot of times, with heaven being a total mess, they tends to do it alot. Wine is great but there is something special about rosewater that makes even the mightiest angels a little...looser. Or as loose as some of them can be, with (as Gabriel put it) _"a massive dick stick up their asses._" But he was drunker than the rest of them, which didn't really make him the most coherent of angels.

"Let's make a bet," Gabriel says, sloshing the flowery smelling drink in his goblet, his eyes a little brighter than usual, which was safe to assume he had about the same amount as Gabriel and was pretty much intoxicated. "hypothetically, if heaven were to flush itself-"

"Gabriel, I think you've had enough," Raphael interrupts and rubs his fingers along the sge of his cup, bors, and a little irritated Gabriel had dragged him into Angel club to have a few more than just 'one' drink. "We all have work tomorrow, it would be unwise if you all are incapacitated and rolling over like dead leaves."

"You always were the boring one," Gabriel pats his brother's cheek. "Lighten up, _Raph_."

Raphael's eyes glow dangerously bright. "Gabriel, there is no need for name calling."

"Feisty you are," Gabriel laughs. "Besides, I want to play a little game of chance. I'll accept the gamble with two kegs of pure rosewater." A few other angels perk up in interest.

"Brother," Raphael protests, but Samael nods and grins a little sheepishly. Uriel leans skittishly away from the other drunken angel and Azrael just giggles. Samandriel giddily waits to hear what the archangel had in mind.

"So hypothetically," Gabriel continues. "Angels tend to fall for one reason, yeah? It just makes me wonder - ya' know, because not all us angels are the same, we aren't all _dues ex machina_ here." Raphael looks a bit offended by the generalization.

"But what'd 'ya think the rest of us would fall for?"

Michael murmurs quietly at the head of the table. Zachariah skitters nervously. Joshua is quiet. He is thinking about Metatron and how he went to hiding and wonders if he had fallen as well.

Then, the oldest angel breaks the silence. "Gabriel would fall for earth," Michael says, a sad note in his voice. "He's always enjoys human company rather than our own."

"Righto, Mike. Most of you angels are dicks."  
"You're an angel too," Raphael reminds him.  
Gabriel shrugs. "I never said I wasn't a dick, just in general, humans are a lot more forgiving."

"Azrael for emotion," Joshua said quietly. "She has always loved the idea of freedom." Azrael looks down, ashamed.

"What, are those the only angels who fall?" Uriel asks, incredulous. (Oh, did someone forget to mention all of these angels were a little more than drunk? If they were to address falling while sober then many of them would have been incinerated on the spot for disobedience. Some were just drunker than others at the time and nobody was paying attention to actually investigate it.) The others go around the table, making jokes ("_you'd totally fall for human pleasure Balthazar don't lie_") and some making general guesses about one another.

"And Castiel...well, he'd fall for love." Joshua muses, the gardener acting more secluded with each moment. The table goes quiet. Most of the other angels had simple, general reasons for falling, but Joshua has honed in on one. Castiel, the disobedient soldier, the one who always questions orders and had been sent for '_revaluation_' more than any other angel (besides Gabriel, who just enjoys screwing around.)

Castiel looks uncomfortable while Samandriel chuckles and Balthazar guffaws and knocks his arm with his elbow. "What special mortal you got your eyes set on now, little brother?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Castiel mutters and refuses to drop his gaze from the table, although he sent a withering glare at the angel next to him.

"That's because he hasn't come into existence yet," Michael said. His smile is placid. "It will certainly surprise many when he finally arrives."

Gabriel nods like that made sense. "Oh, this is one good bet. Would be better if we were all a little more into our..."

"No, Gabriel," Michael picks the goblet out of his younger brother's hand with ease. "Raphael is correct, I think you've had enough. We have duties to attend to in the morning. It is time to rest." He put two fingers on Gabriel's forehead and the angel vanishes. The others follows soon after as they unfurled their wings and took flight.

* * *

ii.

_and God said it was good_

.

.

.

Michael sits alone at the table with Joshua. He has a glass of rose water in his hand but it hasn't been emptied nor does he have the desire to consume any.

"Heaven made quite the bet," Joshua glances around the empty table, where Uriel, Zachariah, Samandriel, Azrael - they all used to sit. The only chair that is fills beside his own is the one of Metatron, who seems intent on ignoring them.

"A gamble indeed," Michael mutters. "Gabriel has lost a lot more than rose water this time."

"I wouldn't say that," Joshua rubs his hands together and stares skyward to the heavens where Heaven is silent. "What no better time like the present to give up grace? So many are lost, Michael. Even you."

"Lucifer can not contain me with him inside forever," Michael says. "Eventually I will break free."

"Your brother will escape as well. I no longer know which of you will win in the outcome."

"God's will always triumphs."

"Does it? It seems a lot of bad has been winning recently, Michael. There are so many angels astray. I fear heaven will never restore it's former glory." He looks again at all the empty seats.

"I suppose Gabriel's bet really has come to play out." the archangel said. "Tell me- did they all truly fall for something?"

Joshua rolls his shoulders into a shrug. "More or less. Gabriel fell for protecting what he felt was the most beautiful creations, and I believe he was right. Azrael left for freedom and she paid the price of doing so."

"Castiel," Michael remembers. "Heaven's little soldier who never really wants to obey. Did Naomi ever break his rebellious streak?"

"I doubt not. He's with the sword now - your vessel. I don't think he even knows yet, what he fell for."

"Maybe he doesn't remember."

"Possibly," Joshua said. "Has Our Father spoken yet? He's been silent for longer than I remember."

"Nothing at all," Michael says, and rises from the chair. "I will return to pray now...perhaps clear my head. Thank you for your company, Joshua."

He leaves. Joshua sits alone. The flickering memory of Metatron is no consolation, still writing down everything he sees in a lonely paradise.

* * *

iii.

_and on the last day, he rested_

_._

_._

_._

"Once upon a time, heaven made a bet," Castiel began, only for Dean to give him a look like '_oh christ how much have you had you're drunk jesus_' and sigh wearily.

"Cas I think you've had - "

"Too much, too much, not enough," Castiel nods his head and it bobs up and down like a doll rocking back and forth, back and forth. "I think I need a little over the edge before I can say I'm generally stoned."

Dean plucks the bottle from his hand with ease. "Nobody here is getting stoned," and then sat down next to the fallen angel and pops off the top of another bottle. "_Unless_ I join them."

"Good choice," Castiel said. "Rather, I would have done it with or without your permission. Although company is nice."

"Don't do anything you would regret," Sam yells at the both of them and slides his laptop off the table. "Also remember to use protection!"

Castiel ignores him and Dean mouths '_fuck off_' and casually flips him a finger, to which Sam just guffaws and exits the room. His feet make hollow steps against the concrete and echo down the hall long after he's gone into his room. The resounding slam of the door behind him cuts off the conversation.

"Heaven and betting, you've got to tell me that story," Dean continues, as if nothing had happened.

"It involved a lot of heavily stoned angels," he bobs his head again and nearly drops the bottle from the neck of the glass.

"SOMEONE PLEASE TALK TO ME I'M SO BORED," the demon in the basement howls. (No, actual demon, not just a figurative term of speech. Crowley insisted on being creepy and dramatic most of the time and acting like a vampire and hissing in their general direction when they let light infiltrate the room.)  
He's ignored most of the time. Except when he starts actually giving information, which they pay close attention to.

"SHUT THE HELL UP," Kevin yells from his room.

"EVERYONE GO TO SLEEP," Sam groans from his.

"WE'RE DRINKING GO AWAY," Dean bellows, and for a brief moment of serenity it goes silent. The bunker swallows the sound and then the echoes of ghosts fill the space.

"Heaven," Dean prompts, when nobody dares break the silence. "Something about drunk angels."

"Oh yes," Castiel smiles, but his eyes are far away, far from the bunker and thousands of years old and gleaming like stars. "Gabriel thought it would be a great idea to steal into the rose water."

Dean frowns. "That sounds _disgusting_."

"It's highly intoxicating for angels."

"I see." Dean pictures a bunch of angels naked in a bathtub drinking cups of roses and braiding each other's hair and singing church hymns.

"Not like that either," Castiel quips, like he could read his mind still, although he'd lost that ability along with his grace. "It's more like holy wine - blessed and pure and makes them get a little loopy." _Them_. He didn't count himself as part of that class now either.

"I'll take your word for it," Dean says. "Drunk angels in heaven, okay."

"This was a long, long, time ago," Castiel says. "Back before we all turned into dicks."

"You're not a dick," Dean tells him. Then he amends "Well, at least, not _all_ the time."

A dry "Thanks." in return.

"No problem." with the same collective banter.

Castiel rolls his eyes, and blinks to regain his thoughts. "Anyways, we were all thinking about one another's, and Balthazar was being extremely inappropriate at the time-"

"-as usual."

"-_shut up Dean_- but yes, and then at the end of the table next to Michael," he turns his head ever so slightly to the left like he was listening to someone whisper in his ear and his eyes acquires a glassy look to them; he was tasting the feeling of rosewater as his memory of grace slowly slips away. "Joshua says _'Castiel - what a strange thing you are, you'd fall for love_.'"

He pauses.  
"It got quiet. I couldn't bear to look at anyone except Balthazar for making a rude comment about who it might be."

Dean is quiet.

"So anyways, long story short, heaven should never make any gambles. It's almost always right." He finishes the bottle and frowns and peers through the neck of the bottle to glare at the empty glass on the other side.

His other drinking companion remains quiet. Lost in thought. Taking measures as how to proceed.

Then, softly, so quietly and carefully like he was treading on a sensitive field of explosions he said; "Were they right?"

Castiel frowns. "Is who right?"

"The bet. Was - was Joshua right?" He looks around the room and finally back at the glassy eyes of the fallen angel. "Did you fall in love with someone?" He says the word '_love_' with hesitation and a little fear, because he didn't know what to say for either answer. He tiptoes around the subject in the Winchester way and avoided it like a plague, basically.

"Maybe." is all he says, and that's about as far as they pursue on the subject.

But to Castiel, when he watches Dean finish his bottle and says an overdue goodnight, with bright green eyes like galaxies and a smile that could make even the grim seem joyful. He smiles (it's bitter and unrequited) and thinks; _yes, it seems Joshua was right_.

* * *

_"grab their halos, rip their dirty wings, while the angels fall getting drunk on rosewater"_


End file.
